Kill Game: An Unforgettable Serial Killer Thriller

by Adam Nicholls

“If you’d just clocked her like I said, we’d be driving in peace. You know that, right?”

  “I can’t clock no kid.”

  The bald man snorted. He took his hand off the gearshift long enough to scrub whatever his derisive outburst had brought out of his nose.

  “Yeah, but you can sure pick ’em out.”

  “Hey, I’m just doing what works, you know what I’m saying? You know what he’s like when he’s got a project. We’re supposed to be on the down-low, remember?” The man in the passenger seat leaned down into the wheel well. When he sat up, he handed a dew-dappled beer can to his brother. “Besides,” he continued, cracking his can, “I wasn’t the one who decided to pull off a fucking hold-up in the middle of nowhere.”

  When the driver spoke, his words were wet with the beer he’d just gulped. She recognized the malty smell as it mixed with the stale odor that filled the car.

  “You tell me how an adult man can get by without a little pocket money.”

  “Not my fault if you spend your allowance.”

  Bella watched the driver’s eyes in the rearview. Something loomed within them, as though what his companion said had woken something up he should’ve left alone.

  “Yeah?”

  Bella stiffened as the driver rolled down his window. She’d never been in a car with the kind of handles this one had. There were no locks on her side and no buttons to open the door or the window either. The weird spinning handles for the windows were only at the front of the vehicle, and the man’s shoulder heaved as he wound the glass down. He chucked his empty can into the dark, wide world. “We wouldn’t have to listen to this sniveling little bitch if you hadn’t killed her damn mom.”

  “And that Mexican screamer behind the counter, don’t forget that one. Boom!” He mimed the shot, his ropy, tattooed arm raising and mimicking the blast. “Hasta la vista, baby.”

  Bella heard a noise that sounded like a creaking door. It started as a whine but continued to build. For a moment she thought something was wrong with the car, until she realized the sound was coming from her. Her chest was hitching, sore and burning from a combination of fear and screaming. Had she been crying this entire time? She looked down at her hands for what felt like the first time since the men had dragged her into the car. They were stained with what must have been her mother’s blood, turning the bright yellow fur of the stuffed duckling she’d taken from home to rust. Was that today? Had it only been a few hours ago when her mother had woken her, her face hovering above as she told her, with a tight smile, to pack her favorite things?

  “We have to leave now, corazón. Just take a few things, and Uncle Guillermo can get the rest later. Okay?”

  The blond let his head sag as the girl’s sobs grew louder. “Jesus Christ, are we there yet? This kid doesn’t know how to shut up,” he moaned.

  “Should’ve shot her, too. I don’t know what you were thinking, brother.”

  “What did Mamá always say? Never show up empty-handed.”

  The ground beneath the car changed. Bella heard the crunch of gravel beneath the wheels as the car began to slow. She wiped her eyes with trembling fingers, looking out beyond the dark that still pressed against the windows.

  “Home again, home again,” the driver mumbled, reaching to turn the wheel in a long arc. The car turned a sharp corner and, still rumbling along the unfinished road, locked a large house into its high beams.

  Bella’s sobs caught in her throat and died. For the first time since she’d been yanked from under her mamá’s lifeless body and thrown in the back of the car, she was silent. Her fingers dug into the sweaty fluff of her stuffed duck, and she felt her insides race. Would she vomit or have an accident? Either were likely, as all her organs were readier to run than she was.

  All the lights in the house were out. The high beams of the car were the only illumination, shining their icy spotlight on the crumbling balconies and sagging patio of what was the biggest farmhouse Bella had ever seen. The white wood was sun-bleached and almost covered in the dry veins of dormant ivy. The windows, which were not boarded shut, stared down at the car as it crunched to a stop, as black and plentiful as a spider’s eyes.

  Everything she had in her eight-year-old body, mind, and spirit screamed at her to stay out, to do anything she needed to do to get away from whatever was waiting inside.

  Her breath was knocked out of her as the bald man yanked her from the back seat. Her feet hit the gravel at an awkward angle, and her ankle bent beneath her. She went slack in the man’s hands for only a second, before he pulled her upward like an errant bag of groceries. He glared down at her, his teeth clenched around a cigarette. He was holding his second beer outward with his other hand to protect it from being spilled as she struggled.

  “Calm down, damnit.”

  Bella reeled back at his tone. He was quiet, something neither had been since they got in the car, and he lowered his voice as if to avoid being heard. “Just…” He trailed off as the front door of the farmhouse opened unceremoniously. Bella could hear the man’s breath catch in his throat. The hand that held her arm grew moist.

  “So, this is what you’ve been up to all night?”

  All three of them turned toward the source of the voice. All Bella could see was the silhouette of a man. He was taller than any man the girl had ever seen. From where she stood at the base of the sloped veranda, she had to blink to be sure he was real. He seemed to rise out of the wood and shadows like a stooped and mournful ghost. He raised a shadowed hand, and there was a click. The porch light above him switched on, insects bursting away from the sudden brightness.

  Bella gasped. Without meaning it, she found herself cowering behind her captor.

  His face was nothing but angles. His eyes were lost behind his jutting forehead, and his cheekbones were so sharp they cast their own shadows. When he opened his mouth to smile, Bella wondered how anyone could have that many teeth.

  “My goodness. Look at what we have here. A guest.”

  Bella watched, horrified, as the skeletal man wiped his hands on his dirty shirt and made his way down the stairs. Each step he took was measured and even. He barely made a noise as he crossed the gravel, his bare feet digging into the sharp stones with every step. He didn’t wince—his expression didn’t change at all.

  Bella tried to run away, but the bald man dropped a firm hand on her shoulder, like the claw of a machine reaching for a teddy bear. His hands grew wetter the nearer the man came to them, and she could feel heat seeping through his skin like molten sweat. He was scared of him, too, she realized. Bella felt her stomach drop so painfully that her lower abdomen cramped. If this man, the one that knew words even her papa didn’t use, was scared, what did that mean for her?

  The tall man was right in front of her now. He kneeled down, as noiseless and graceful as ever.

  “Scott went too far at the convenience store,” the bald man explained, pushing her ahead.

  The tall man in front of her gave a skeptical look at the blond man, at Scott, and his lips thinned over the bulge of his gums. It was a look that said, “You disobeyed my orders, and you will be punished.”

  Out loud, all he said was, “Got the itch, did you?”

  “Figured we could use her as a hostage. She’s just a little pocket money, that’s all. No big deal. Jim helped, too, so it wasn’t just me.” Scott’s voice dipped and dove around them like a swallow, flighty and completely devoid of any of the choice words and surly attitude he’d been full of a few moments ago. “Ended up a little messier than I wanted, I admit.”

  The bald man—Jim, it now became obvious—scoffed again. “Yeah, messier than you wanted. That’s rich. You’re all about messy.”

  “This is your leftovers, then?” The tall, skeletal man reached out with cool, dry finger and separated Bella from Jim’s grip. She wasn’t breathing, her heartbeat thumping behind her eyes and her legs useless as he drew her to him with a soft gesture. His skin was thin as paper, and it appeared to glow
the closer she got to it. She hadn’t seen anyone so white before.

  “Do you speak English?” he asked in a calm, soothing voice.

  Bella only nodded.

  “Then listen, sweetheart. I’m sorry this happened. See, my brothers don’t know what to do with themselves half the time. Don’t know their butts from a hole in the ground, at least that’s what our daddy used to say.” He crouched only inches from her, sitting back on his heels. His fingers danced over her face, pushing her sweaty, black hair out of her eyes and rubbing the tears off her burning cheeks. She wanted to push his hands away, to sink her fingers in those deep-set eyes that investigated her, prodding her with the matching pinprick lights that shone out from the depths.

  Bella said nothing, wringing her fingers.

  “Pretty little thing,” the man said, exhaling.

  Bella felt a wave of relief wash over her when his frown loosened, breaking out in a grim Cheshire cat grin. He clapped his big hands together and addressed his brothers. They grinned back at him with something Bella recognized as relief. “Yup, real little doll you boys picked up. She’s a keeper. I’ll tell you what. We’ll have to make sure she’s real comfy, won’t we? We look after our guests around here.”

  He leaned forward, still crouched, and took both her hands in his. He frowned again, examining the duck doll she’d forgotten she was still holding. She thought of how she’d begged her mother for it at their local bookstore. It was a collectable and super rare. That was how she’d described it. It was super rare, and she’d die if she didn’t get it. She’d just die.

  Tears blinded her again.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” the man asked.

  “Is-Isabella.”

  “Isabella?” His features softened.

  “People just call me Bella.”

  “Okay, Bella. My name’s Salem. Listen, do you love that little duck of yours?”

  Bella nodded, her bare arms feeling the cold breeze for the first time.

  “I used to have a little duckling, too. Just like that. I used to take good care of it, and I carried it with me wherever I went. I loved that little thing, until it went missing. But now I realize I don’t need it anymore. Do you know why?”

  Bella shook her head in rapid strokes.

  And then he touched her arm.

  The man licked his lips, his dark eyes fixed on her like a hungry wolf. “Because you, Isabella, can be my little duckling from now on.”

  Chapter Five

  Sweat coated her body like an icy glaze. A deep trembling had begun in her core, spreading out to her limbs where she sat, mummified by her damp sheets.

  It was just a dream, she told herself. Another betrayal by her subconscious mind.

  Bella tried to get her bearings. The morning sun was indistinguishable from the gray of the rest of the day, creeping in from the tall loft windows like fog. When had she fallen asleep?

  Kyle had made her promise not to come to work when he’d broken the news; she remembered that well enough. He’d given her a multitude of reasons. “We don’t know for sure yet.” He’d stumbled over himself as he spoke. “I think it’s some mistake. I mean, the guy has been MIA for over two decades. You don’t just pop up and decide to kill a kid. Do me a favor and stay home, though, okay? No exceptions? Let me talk to the captain first. He’s going to want you to stay put, too, I can guarantee that. I doubt he’ll want you to leave your apartment until we can prove it’s not Ross.”

  Like anyone would ever keep her in one place ever again.

  After that phone call, she’d made it to her hallway three times and each of the times turned around and gone back to bed. Once she’d even jabbed the elevator call button. Her drive to get down to the bureau had fought with her commitment to her job for hours. Kyle was right. There was no way Captain Brooks would want her anywhere near this case. And disobeying the captain’s orders? Even assumed ones? Any detective would catch shit for that. But when her captain happened to also be her adoptive father? Well, that added an entirely new dimension.

  There was a knock at the door. Bella’s nerves, already frayed from her nightmare, sent a jolt through her that cleared the rest of the haze from her mind. She untangled herself from her sheets and slipped from the bed. She took her jeans from the floor and tugged them on awkwardly, hopping on one foot toward the stairs that led down to the front door.

  The knock sounded again. It was too aggressive to be Kyle. The demanding thumps boomed throughout the empty space, shaking the century-old windows in their warped frames. Bella jumped. She was angry at herself for being so put off. Jumping at a knock on the door? He’d already got under her skin, and that was just a dream. If it was him, if he was really out there again, how the hell was she going to handle that?

  For starters, she would take her anger out on whoever was still pounding on her door.

  “I’m coming,” she barked. She pushed against the door and set about retracting the multiple dead bolts she’d had installed. When she got to the last, she swung it open, frowning already at whoever was so intent on getting in.

  But her plan quickly fell to pieces. She could feel her frown soften.

  Captain Brooks stood in her hallway. A tall man who looked after his aging body, he practically filled her doorframe. The quiet force of his presence sucked all the oxygen from the space.

  “Detective Cruz?”

  Bella felt the familiar conflict of emotions she always experienced when she hadn’t seen the captain in a while. The first rush was love. If she had been any other woman and he’d been any other adoptive father, they might’ve rushed into each other’s arms. Although she was grown, she might’ve even pressed her still-sweaty head into his chest and allowed herself to be held. Like any other father, he might’ve folded his daughter up into those big arms of his and promised to keep her safe, to keep the bad man away like he’d done all those years ago.

  But they weren’t characters from some sappy made-for-television movie. Not these two. Not by a long shot.

  Bella quickly roped her hair into a loose knot at the base of her neck. She stepped aside, allowing the imposing man to step into her home. He examined her as he walked in, his small but sharp eyes taking her in. They told her that he saw her the same way he always had: as a young, innocent child.

  “Detective Gray has been in contact?” He stood in the center of the loft, still dissecting her every movement.

  “Kyle? Yeah, he called last night.” Bella hadn’t followed him into the loft. Instead, she was opening the closet by the front door and pulling a blazer on over her shirt. The collar of the shirt was moist, making her conscious of her appearance. She’d been asleep, that was apparent, but by the way she had been sweating, it hadn’t been restful. “Is it confirmed?” she asked, her throat twitching as she swallowed. “Is it Salem Ross? The Salem Ross?”

  Brooks sighed, putting his hands on his hips. His coat opened, revealing the holster strapped across his broad chest.

  “Bella,” he began.

  She buzzed past him, raising a finger. “My gun’s upstairs. Give me a sec.”

  She could smell him—the smell of soap and Armani—as she passed.

  “Bella,” he said again. “There’s no way you’re going in, kiddo. Not today. Not on this case.” She paused, her foot on the first step of the spiral staircase. Her entire body went stiff. Brooks watched her with sharp eyes that showed knowing. He knew what she was about to say. She could tell what he was thinking.

  “She’ll be fragile,” the social worker had told them all those years ago. “What she’s been through would destroy most adults. Most people can’t come back from the amount of abuse that monster put her through. It’s going to be a rough road for the two of you. You’re going to have to work extra hard to get her trust. What Isabella needs now is to feel safe. She needs nurturing.” Something had flickered beneath the woman’s face then. Something unspoken. A mother. That’s what she’d wanted to say. She needs a woman to help her. To heal h
er. Not some rangy giant with angry eyes and fingernails chewed to the quick with a box of pictures of his dead wife under his bed.

  “If anyone knows about Ross, it’s me,” Bella said simply. Her knuckles grew white where she gripped the iron railing of the staircase. “You need me down there, even if you’re not sure it’s him. I can help you make that decision.”

  Brooks’s face didn’t change. Now craggy with age but still as impassive and authoritative as a head on a coin, he gave nothing away. He never did. “What we need is for you to stay as far away from this investigation as possible.”

  She laughed, a heartless sound that echoed as loud as his knocking had.

  “Seriously? How the hell am I supposed to do that? That man—if it’s really him—is out there looking for me.”

  “We don’t know that, Bella.”

  “You don’t? Then why my precinct? Why drop the girl’s body right on my goddamn doorstep? Why choose a girl…” Her throat constricted. It slammed itself shut against her will, causing her to choke on her words. She felt her cheeks tighten with heat as she struggled to continue, hoping against hope that the captain hadn’t noticed. “Why choose a girl so young?”

  “Just take the day off,” Brooks said, his voice was calm but with no room for negotiation. There never was.

  “Like hell,” Bella said. She began up the stairs, tucking her still-moist shirt into her jeans.

  “Bella.”

  She stopped. She was pushing it. She’d seen officers fired for less. The younger officers didn’t call him Captain Hook behind his back for nothing. She looked down to where he still stood, black-suited and immovable below her. “I’ve assigned you to another case. Salem is not your business anymore. This is out of your hands.”

  “Whose hands is it in, then?” She met his eyes, narrowing hers to match his. “Someone with more experience with Ross? Who? Who knows more about that monster than me?”

  Captain Brooks sighed. He checked his watch, his expression impatient. Bella was unimpressed. The man’s every move was calculated to manipulate, she knew that well enough.